Can't Spell Subtext Without
by lithugraph
Summary: "They weren't normal. And no amount of board games could ever fix that." Holed up in the bunker between cases, Sam and Dean play Scrabble. Nothing is resolved. Set around season 9 after episode 11. Oneshot.


_**A/N**__ Obligatory disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters. This was originally pegged for humor, but then the angst!_

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"Buttsex."

Sam looked up from his laptop to see his brother's smirking face staring at him from across the table.

"What?" Sam's brow furrowed, unsure if he'd heard his brother right.

"Buttsex," Dean said again, nodding at the table and the game spread across it.

Sam's eyes scanned the letter tiles and game board, apparently lost for a moment. He had forgotten they were playing a game, having been preoccupied running virus scans on his laptop. Such scans made necessary by the stupidly smirking face across from him and its love of Asian internet porn. Sam was currently on his fifth run and his irritation with his brother was ever mounting.

"That – that's your word?" Sam's eyes flicked up from the Scrabble board.

"Yeah." Dean grinned and shrugged, evidently pleased with himself. "And I get a triple letter score. Check it out – 'X' marks the spot, Sammy." Dean slid the X letter tile away from its square with his finger so Sam could see he wasn't cheating. "So, what is that?" Dean continued, calculating his points aloud. "Eight times three is twenty…."

"Twenty-four."

Dean shot his brother a steely glare. "I _know_ that!"

"Sorry," Sam shrugged, returning to his laptop. "It's just…."

"Just what, Sammy?"

"Nothin'," Sam said, hoping Dean would drop it. He really didn't feel like having another fight. They had been stuck together in that bunker for two weeks, going on three, with no cases and no leads, and all they seemed to do lately was fight.

Dean, on the other hand, was itching to blow off more steam.

"Then why'd you say it?" Dean snapped. "You think I don't know my times tables, is that it? Jeez. I can do arithmetic, Sam. Thank you."

"Wow. Good for you," Sam deadpanned. "Is that _all_ you ever learned in school?"

"No, smartass. I also happen to know that Borax is the common name for sodium borate." Dean tipped his chair back, lacing his fingers behind his head, a haughty sneer on his face.

Sam fixed his brother with a dry look. "Dean, just because you spent the majority of your senior year in the janitor's closet doesn't make you a chemist."

"Whatever," Dean said with an eye roll. "It's your turn, bitch."

"Where did you even find this, anyway?"

"Rummaging around one of the closets, lookin' for somethin' useful. There was a whole stack of 'em. Monopoly, Clue, checkers….Those Men of Letters dudes must not've gotten out much."

"At least they had board games to pass the time."

"Heh, they should call 'em _bored_ games."

Sam's brow knit. "…They – they _do_ call them board games, Dean."

"No. _Bored_, not board."

"What?"

"C'mon, Sam! Bored! Get it? B-O-R-E-D."

Sam rolled his eyes, checking the results of his virus scan.

Dean clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Forget it. My humor's wasted on you."

Sam hummed a noncommittal response.

A strained silence fell between them, the only sounds filling the bunker's library were that of Sam's fingers tapping against keys and Dean's boot heel drumming against the polished floor as his leg shook up and down.

"Would you stop that?" Sam finally hissed.

"What?"

"Shaking your leg. It's distracting."

"Sorry. I'm just waitin' on you, nerd boy."

"Why? So you can google more porn? I'm not going to be done any time soon – "

"It's your turn in the _game_, genius."

Sam sighed and pushed away his laptop. He took one good look at the board and let out a derisive snort. In keeping with the recent addition of "buttsex," similar words, like "lube," "moist," and "booze," dotted the board.

"Your vocabulary is just as impressive as your school record," Sam said.

Dean started to grin but stopped at the unimpressed look on Sam's face.

"Oh, well, _excuse _me, Sammy, for wanting to have some fun!"

"Is buttsex even a word?" Sam muttered, frowning slightly at the game board and wondering what words he could possibly make from the options his brother left him.

"Who cares?" Dean huffed. "I'm bored, anyway."

"What? Are you done? You don't want to play anymore?"

"Yup."

"But you were the one who insisted we play this stupid game."

"Well, I changed my mind," Dean said with an air of finality. He let his chair fall back down, it's legs hitting the floor with an echoing bang like some absurd judge's gavel.

"Okay," Sam said, rubbing his forehead. "What _do_ you want to do?"

Dean heaved his shoulders up in an exaggerated shrug. "Is there anything coming down the pipes?" he asked, nodding at Sam's computer.

"Don't know yet," Sam said. "I'm still working on debugging it."

"Christ," Dean groaned. "And how long is _that_ gonna take?"

Sam's eyes flicked up from the monitor, narrowing slightly as they met Dean's. "I. Don't. Know," he ground out. "Here's an idea. How about you go to the gas station and grab some porno mags next time you need a fix instead of using _my _computer. Then we wouldn't have this problem."

"Screw this," Dean grumbled, getting up from the table.

Sam watched him go with an air of relief.

A relief that was short-lived.

Dean returned with a bottle of beer and his handgun. He popped the top of the beer, kicked both feet up on the table, and began disassembling his gun.

"Can't you do that anywhere else?" Sam said as the sounds of Dean cleaning his gun and swilling his beer filled the relative quiet of the bunker's library.

"And miss out on your great company? Fat chance."

Sam shook his head, about to return to his debugging program, when a thought occurred: The bunker was huge, massive, filled with plenty of things – like the shooting range and garage – that could easily keep Dean occupied. So why was he choosing to spend his time playing board games in the library?

"What's with you lately?" Sam muttered.

"Whaddaya mean, Sam?"

"Why are you here?"

Dean glanced up from cleaning his gun with a dubious look towards his brother. "…Isn't it obvious? We haven't got a case – "

"No, I know that – that's not…what I mean is, why are you _here_? In this particular room? Why aren't you – I don't know – tinkering in the garage or something? C'mon, Dean. You're not acting like _you_. Dude, you wanted to play Scrabble. _Scrabble!_ Since when does Dean Winchester ever play board games?"

Dean set his gun on the table with an irritated huff. "Just thought we could spend some family time together is all."

He reached for his bottle of beer, the tail of Cain's mark poking out of the rolled up cuff of his sleeve.

Sam eyed the angry welt warily a moment before his eyes snapped up to lock on his brother's.

Dean glanced away, clearing his throat, and rolled down his shirtsleeve.

"Is that what this is about?" Sam asked in a low voice. "You trying to make up for somethin'?"

"Oh don't start," Dean groaned. "It isn't always _about_ something, Sam! Sometimes I just want to spend time with my little brother. Sometimes I just want to joke around and play frickin' board games and act normal!"

"Normal?" Sam echoed, a wry smile twisting his face. "We're _not_ normal, Dean."

"Yeah, don't I know it," Dean grunted, snatching up his gun and resuming cleaning.

Sam watched as his brother scrubbed out the barrel and diligently oiled each component before reassembling the gun with such a familiar rapidity that suggested he could easily have done it in his sleep.

"You wanna play Monopoly?" Sam suddenly asked.

Dean snorted. "Yeah. So you can get Boardwalk and Park Place and put hotels on 'em and bleed me dry like you did when you were eight? I don't think so, Sammy." He inspected the gun's sights, taking a pull from his beer.

"What if I gave you a lien this time?" Sam said. His lips twitched as the ghost of a smile flitted across his face.

"Isn't that bending the rules?"

"Since when have you ever cared about rules? Especially in board games?"

"It's a tempting offer, but I think I'm gonna pass. I need to go sight this in, make sure she's shootin' straight. But maybe later, okay?"

Sam let out a little puff of a laugh. "Right. Yeah."

Dean stood, holstering his gun, and downed the rest of his beer.

Just then, his phone buzzed on the table. Sam leaned over to check the caller ID, but Dean snatched it up before he had a chance.

"Crowley, thank God," Dean said immediately after answering. And it struck Sam just how odd those words sounded together.

"Tell me you have something for us," Dean continued as he turned on his heel, leaving the library.

Sam pretended to be too absorbed in his debugging to pay his brother any attention. But his eyes betrayed him as they flicked up from the monitor to watch a retreating back of faded blue flannel. Any further conversation had been lost amongst the echoing, cavernous rooms.

They weren't normal. And no amount of board games could ever fix that.


End file.
